


How A Raven Gets Its Wings

by Gh0stFl0ra



Series: Raven in the Cage [2]
Category: KISS (US Band)
Genre: 1980s, Costumes, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Record Stores, Slut Shaming, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gh0stFl0ra/pseuds/Gh0stFl0ra
Summary: There's a first for everything. First costume, first photoshoot, and first tour.
Relationships: n/a
Series: Raven in the Cage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846963
Kudos: 4





	1. Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going off a timeline where KISS didn't tour for Creatures Of The Night until 1984.

Cherry's P.O.V

I pull a few things out of my closet and slump them around my chair. A set of platform boots with broken heels, a black bodysuit, and a set of black opera gloves. The last few days have been a surreal blur, from being hired by KISS, to being fired by Patrick, to having work tomorrow with people I mostly hate-no, that's actually normal. I lay down, and my hand trails to my scarf. I untie it, and avoid touching what it hides, the last part of a body I wasn't supposed to have. The notebook on my desk, next to the one labeled 'lyrics' is full of calculations on the cost of surgeries and hormones. Thank God my mom's insurance covers them, until I'm 25. The thought creeps into my mind-what if they find out? 

My stomach churns, as I dwell on it. This can be a dangerous place for your average salaryman, let alone someone like me. Aunt Paula and Uncle John already give me shit for being this way, I'd hate to imagine the reaction of one of the most praised rock bands. The least I expect is to be fired and blacklisted from the industry. I don't even want to think about the worst they could do. Paula thinks I need therapy, John says I'm making it up for attention. I've been to therapy, to get approved for the hormones, but that's all I need. I don't want to kill anyone or myself, I don't see or hear crazy things unprompted, and I don't have a lack of emotion toward people. 

I shower, and notice the hole Pervo drilled into the bathroom wall, right above the toilet. Lovely. I try to avoid thinking about him, and focus instead on work. I've got a little bit of authority, from both good work, and reasons I don't want to bring up. I guess we all make desperate moves at some point. 

My alarm screeches at me around four thirty, as I throw on some clothes, and tie my scarf back on. After brushing my teeth, and putting on some makeup, I run out the door with my purse. No reasonable person should be out at this hour, but for the unreasonable, I have a bottle of pepper spray just in case. I plug the headphones to my walkman in, and hit play on the mixtape. 'Let's Dance' is the first one I have lined up. A few seconds in, I decide to start dancing, still progressing to the store. I do this until I notice the nearby coffeehouse is open. Pausing the rest of the song, I enter, and notice Frank standing behind the counter, filling the pastry rack. Wednesdays are two dollar coffee and bagel days, I've learned. I slide a crumpled- five? over to the mustached owner, who greets me. 

"Morning, Cherry, got anything planned this week?", he asks, filling a cup with the drink, and plucking a bagel from the rack. I shrug, and take a bite of the bagel. 

"I have to be at this studio on Saturday, if that's anything?", 

"Oh, how's Lucky Star?," he opens the door for the paperboy, who stacks a bundle on the counter. Frank tosses him the five, before taking a newspaper. 

I wince, "I got fired", 

He furrows his brow, "I never liked that Jennifer girl you guys had on, she made me think something seedy was up", 

I elaborate, with the soda incident and everything, albeit, leaving Paul nameless. He snorts, saying Patrick had it coming. I check the clock, 5:30. My shift starts at 7, so good on me, I guess. He flips over to page 6, but doesn't read it, instead asking another question. 

"So, why are you going into a studio if your band fired you?", I hesitate to answer, but he looks at the page, his eyes widening. Some gossip about a model presumably. But, he flips the page, to show me. The photo taken at the Green Dragon is plastered with the headline, 'Groupie or Guitarist?'. That's where that photo ended up. "What is this?", he asks incredulously. 

"I was meaning to tell you", I take another sip of coffee. I whisper the explanation, much to his confusion, and somewhat astonishment. Frank shakes his head, and takes a sip of his respective coffee, before asking an, ultimately deserved question. 

"Did you have to give Paul the Martin treatment?", he lowers his voice. 

"Frank, that was one time, and so I wouldn't have to work the night shift", I cross my arms. I stay until 6, and rush back out the door. I make it at 6:55, with Tiffany looking up from her magazine at me. A slimy grin is on her face as I clock in. 

"You're lucky Martin likes you, or you'd be out in ten seconds", I roll my eyes when she isn't looking. I return to my spot behind the counter, and wait for our boss to show up. Martin, his niece Veronica, and her boyfriend Jimmy show up at 8, Martin carrying a paper and doughnut. Veronica's the only one here I legitimately like, not doing anything outright callous or irresponsible, unlike Jimmy or Tiffany. 

"So, did anyone see Manhattan last night?", Jimmy clocks in, before picking up a box labeled 'new'. When no one answers, he groans, trying to attract attention. Tiffany obliges, asking what happened. "So I'm over there, visitin' my ma, then all of a sudden, thirty people run out of nowhere, and I'm almost run over by some cameraman", he stocks a cassette shelf, before continuing his story, "I ask 'what the hell's goin' on?', turns out, they're tryin' to get into this Chinese place", 

"The Green Dragon?", I offer, to which he nods curtly, and snaps his fingers, returning to the story. 

"Yeah, that's the place. I'm thinkin' 'why are all these people tryin' to get in at 8 P.M.?', then some guy runs by, yellin' about how he saw KISS headed in there.", he flails his hand, continuing to stock the tapes. The 18 year old scoffs, muttering about how the hype should've died. Tiffany agrees, going on about 'arena rats'. 

The first customers of the day are two sixteen year olds playing hooky, each buying an Alice Cooper tape. Martin squints, his bias showing through. He's probably going to go on a tangent about how 'back in my day, we had better music than that', even though I caught him singing 'Poison' in the backroom. A few more come in, men in stiff pressed suits picking up whatever they can get in a time crunch. I ring them up, and let them leave without conversation. All of them picked Elvis records, apparently. 

"I never got why people liked him", Veronica says, stocking up the t shirts. 

"Yeah, the guy gives me the creeps", I add on, closing a slot in the register. 

"Are you kidding, the man's great", Martin looks up from stocking the magazine rack, before taking a look at the newspaper, "Too bad he died so soon", 

Veronica and I look at each other, before laughing. The owner huffs, before flipping the newspaper section. I place a 'sale' sticker on a 45, just as Martin gasps. He never reads page 6, I try to assure myself. But when he storms over to me, that thread of hope is gone. He slaps the paper on the counter, eyes wide as dinner plates. 

Jimmy and Tiffany are the first to come over and look, much to my displeasure. I hide my eyes, looking over at the register again, as the two start laughing. 

"What is this? Are you sure you're not pullin' our leg, old man?", Jimmy points at the photo. 

"Don't you have that bar band, Cherry?", Tiffany asks, trying to stifle her laughter, albeit poorly. 

"I got fired", I whisper. 

"So why are you hanging out with those washed up goons anyway?", the blonde asks, just as the phone rings. I silently thank whoever called, as I pick up. 

"Soundscapes, Cherry speaking", I rush to answer, only to hear Eric on the other end. 

"We've got the costume girl over at the studio," 

"I'm at work", I reply awkwardly, "My next break isn't until noon", t he phone is seemingly yanked out of his hand, and put on speaker. I pull it away from my ear, as Gene gets on the line.

"Mind telling your boss we're on a time crunch? Fleur's got to be on a plane to Germany in three hours", this attracts my coworkers attention, as well as Martin's. I weakly attempt to reiterate that I can only leave at the break, but he cuts me off. "Tell him you're taking off", he hangs up shortly after. Jimmy starts to laugh uproariously, Tiffany joining in. 

"You're in with them? How many rocket rides did that take?", the blonde snickers. She doesn't know the circumstances, but it still hurts nonetheless. Jimmy's comment is even worse. 

"Did those penny-pinchers put you on a fleshlight yet?", he sneers, as I walk to clock out. 

"Fuck both of you", I hiss under my breath, Veronica seemingly upset. 

"Guys, We're all adults, can we please try to act like it?" , she insists, to which her uncle agrees. They don't listen, as I exit the store. I know better than to cry, it only encourages them to continue laughing. I check the address again, and head to the subway station. Queens. 


	2. Rigging, Feathers, and Bad Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how bad this chapter is, as well as the rushed tour planning scene.

Cherry's P.O.V

I sprint from the subway station, not bothering to check for strange looks. Upon reaching the building, I bang on the door, until a clearly surprised intern lets me in. I thank him breathlessly, and look for the others. They're sitting in a spare room, along with a sharply dressed woman, who's anxiously checking her watch. I assume this is Fleur, as I sit in a chair. 

"Sorry I'm late, " I apologize, as Fleur clears her throat. She gives a pained smile, before we shake hands. 

"Hello, Miss Lombardi", the costume girl greets, "How are you?", 

"I'm fine, I'm fine", I say, not wanting to bring up Jimmy and Tiffany. 

"They consulted me for your costume", Fleur produces a sketchpad, and quickly draws a basic figure of me, with the same parts of the drawing I made at the restaurant, the strange hair and makeup, along with the stole wrapped around my neck. "I take it you want to add in parts with the same color?", she doesn't give me time to answer, as she continues to draw, looking at me, then at Gene, for some reason. She nods when the sketch is done, sliding the pad over to us.

The costume is a black bodysuit, with different leg lengths, one ending at the midthigh, the other, the top of the knee. Two sections at the bottom of the legs are labeled 'PNK', as well as the toe and partial sole of each equally black platform boot. Two bird skulls are drawn on the back, blending in with the zipper. The top of the bodice is decorated with rows of feathers, functioning as shoulders. The upper chest is covered with a mesh like fabric. It only hits me now that I'll have to pay for it, as well as stage makeup. Great. She finishes the design, and receives a good answer, before explaining it will be done by March 30th. I beg to differ on specifics, but at least I can be hopeful. 

Fleur checks her watch again, and decides to work on the other costume designs, all receiving praise, until two hours pass, and she exits, mentioning the plane. I wonder if I should leave now, and get back to work. Martin's probably contemplating firing me as we sit here. 

"So, is that everything we need to talk about?", I question, slightly nervous. Paul gestures for me to wait, as he grabs a guitar case from under the table. He unlatches it, revealing a brand new Fender, with a neon pink body, and black pickguard. My eyes widen at this, and I run my finger down its neck. 

"Thank you so much", I smile, bouncing around the idea of having to pay him for it, "Really". I try not to focus on it, as Doc and two crew members enter, discussing expenses. The one on his right is punching numbers into an adding machine, the one on the left scribbling down numbers onto a legal pad. The three sit at the table, before starting up the conversation with us. 

"So, budgeting ran an amount for promoting her, and we've got about ten thousand for the first photoshoots", Doc elaborates, pointing at me. Supposedly, they've got one planned for March 30th, the same day the costume supposedly arrives. "We're planning something with Kerrang and Raw", he pauses to stretch his arms. Gene suggests that we run the photos as something 'cryptic', with fans not knowing what they were getting. The manager begrudgingly accepts this, telling the crew member with the legal pad to write it down. 

We change the subject to the tour, suggesting mid to late April. That just reminds me I need to get a new passport and apply for a work visa. Who knows how long that could take, considering I had to wait three months to get a new birth certificate and Social Security card, of all things. They discuss 10 dates in North America, 6 in Europe, and 4 in Japan. Over two months on the road. 

"It comes to around 700 thousand", the crewmember with the adding machine announces, allowing the other to jot it down. That seems like too much, almost. But, what would I know about tour expenses. I check the clock again, close to 1 in the afternoon. I know Martin's going to fire me. That's more obvious than the weird look on Doc's face. I keep quiet while they discuss the setlist and pyrotechnics, until my name is brought up. 

"Yes?", I look up, slightly startled. Paul's going on about a way to draw attention to the tour, considering it's been a few years since the album was released. Gene still holds onto the idea of cryptic marketing, much to his bandmate's displeasure. Right now, I just want this meeting to be over, more than anything. Eric notices my reaction, and tries to vouch for me. 

"Isn't this a bit rushed?", he asks, "The tour would start in a bit less than a month", 

Doc shoots this down, unfortunately. I pat Eric's shoulder in an attempt to console him. 

"The fans haven't seen a tour in a while, no thanks to the constant hiring and firing", the manager adds a hint of disgust to the end of his sentence. 

"Eric has a point, though", Paul admits, "She's 19. She probably doesn't know how our tours work." 

"You were the one who thought she was the best option", Doc argues, placing a sheet of paper onto the table. It's a drawing of the stage layout, with fireworks sections placed in strategic spots behind the lighting section. Close enough to make a spectacle, but far enough to not cause an accident. "This is the plan for the pyrotechnics, mostly in the stadiums. The marketing team is already booking them", 

My head feels like its going to explode as I hear this. They're booking stadiums a month in advance. All of those people, judging everything. I can't back out of this, though. Especially since this is the best option I have, and a once in a lifetime chance. 

"D-do you mind if I use the phone?", I raise my hand awkwardly, as if I'm in elementary school again. 

"Who's it to?", Gene asks, eyebrow raised. 

"My boss," I look down, hoping he agrees. The bassist shoos me off, saying there's a payphone outside. He jokes about 'girls and their phone calls'. I know I should feel slightly insulted, but I'm not. It's bizarre. Regardless, I need to call Martin, and hope he hasn't fired me over this. I yank a few dimes out of pocket, and place one in the payphone, before dialing the store. 

"Soundscapes, Veronica speaking", she chirps, "How can I help you?", 

"Hey, Veronica, is your uncle there?", I ask, "I'm still over at the studio", 

"Yeah, he's still here", she turns the phone over to the older man, who seems a bit worried. 

"Yes?", 

"Hi, Martin", I wince upon hearing his voice. 

"Cherry?, you're still over there?", he questions, the sound of Jimmy throwing something present in the background. 

"They're talking about scheduling a tour", I run a hand through my hair. 

"How is this going to work, then?", he groans, muffling the receiver on his end. I don't know. I really don't. When he gets back on, I hear Tiffany flip through her magazine again in the background, while he writes something down. "Look, come in tomorrow, I'll sort something out, alright?", 

"Alright", I hang up, before reentering the building. The rest of the meeting sloughs on, about whatever gripes or issues they have with the traveling, or how many equipment vans and roadies they need. When it ends, the clock reads 1:30 P.M, and I'm told to return next week. We go our separate ways, exchanging phone numbers again. I grab the case and leave, wondering how much it'll amount up to. I take the subway back, a copy of the of the setlist in my other hand, and sit near a punk girl and her skinhead boyfriend. He looks over to her, and whispers something, causing her to smack him across the face in anger.

When I get back to my apartment, the landlady flicks some ashes near me, and gazes over to the guitar case. I don't pay her much attention, as I unlock the door. After placing the setlist on the edge of my mirror frame, I set the old guitar against my dresser, and flop back down on my bed. I guess I should call about the passport, then. But, late April? It just seems too soon. I doubt I'd be able to change it, either. But, I'll bite my tongue on the matter. My anxiety seems to be mixed with some strange sort of pride and excitement as well. 


	3. Final Checks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the short chapter. Should I shift the POV's for each chapter?

Cherry's P.O.V

When Martin enters the store the next morning, he's hiding an envelope under his newspaper. When no one is looking, he sets both on the counter, close to me. I pull the envelope out, and slip it in my purse. Jimmy and Veronica clock in, the man starting to rant again. 

"Well, I'm screwed", Jimmy groans, grabbing a box from an upper shelf. 

"What happened?", Tiffany asks, looking up from wiping down the record player. The 18 year old sighs, commenting about Veronica's parents. I choose not to listen in, focusing on the 45 Martin has dangling above the window. The bell on the door rings again, breaking my attention.

The figure is familiar, with the pageboy cap, glittery vest, and red boots. Patrick. He strides through the store, tracing a fingertip over the cassettes, finally pulling one from the shelf. The singer fishes a few crumpled bills from his pocket, and places both the tape and money on the counter. Space Oddity. Only Patrick could sully the name of someone I actually respect. I accept his money, a cold stare focused on him. The page 6 section is on the floor next to my purse. While he admonishes me for returning to my day job, I bend over, and pick up the paper. 

"Here", I finish ringing him up, and sweep up the bills, setting the paper aside. It obviously catches his attention, as he reads it, eye twitching. 

"Is this some kind of joke?", Patrick snaps. Before I can answer, the bell rings again. We all take a look at the new customer. From the broad frame, to the frizzy hair, it's obviously Gene. He's poorly disguised with a pair of sunglasses and a bandana, which begs the question, why is he here at 9 A.M. on a Thursday? Martin exits the backroom, and nearly has a panic attack. 

"Cherry, get the cops. I think we're being robbed", he's shaking, while Jimmy ducks under a stack of records, poorly. Veronica and Tiffany hide their faces in embarrassment. Or potentially fear. I try to explain the situation, just as Martin grabs the phone receiver. Gene lowers the bandana, and goes to get Martin away from the phone. 

"He's not here to rob us, Martin", I groan, my shame growing by the second. 

"Then why the hell's he comin' in with a bandana and sunglasses?", Jimmy snaps "If that doesn't spell 'I'm gonna mug you', I don't know what does", And he wonders why I don't like him that much. 

"Maybe because I'd enjoy some privacy", Gene speaks in a rather monotonous tone, tinged with irritation. Martin begrudgingly sets the receiver down, and starts apologizing, upon realizing the lack of a weapon on Gene. 

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I just thought-", 

"That I'd want to rob a record store on a weekday, without so much as a pistol?", Gene rationalizes. 

"I suppose you're right. Cherry, give this man a discount", Martin presses his hands to his temples, before returning to the backroom. Gene obliges, filing through the shelves of cassettes, Veronica and Patricks' eyes on him. He decides on an album, and places it on the counter, shooting a glance at Patrick. Creatures Of The Night. 'He's buying his own album?' I ring him up, along with applying the discount. The section catches his eye, and he chuckles darkly at it. 

"They consider this reporting, really?", Patrick opens his mouth, but decides against it, leaving in a hurry, "What a joke". 

I eat a semi-decent salad for lunch, still focused on what happened. Tiffany pokes at her leftovers, talking to Veronica. Secondhand embarrassment pours in my brain, as I take a bite of lettuce. Why was Gene even here in the first place? Is he going to tell Paul and Eric about this? Dear God, I hope not. 

"Didn't that guy sound familiar to you?", Veronica asks the blonde, who agrees. 

"He reminds me of a radio host, or someone who does audiobooks", She suggests. 

"Did you see what he bought?", the redhead questions, "A KISS album", 

"That's so weird", Tiffany places a stick of gum in her mouth, chewing. 

I listen in, but decide against letting them know the truth. They'd probably think I was lying, even though people should know what he looks like, even without the facepaint. I still have to tell my parents about the tour, if they're interested. My Saturday is probably going to be full of getting a new passport, hoping I can file a two weeks notice without Martin bringing up the-incident. When I get back to the apartment, I spot two teens making out behind a potted plant, and a homeless man sleeping in the lobby. Average Thursday, if I can be honest. I still toss a spare dollar from the bottom of my purse to the guy. I unlock the door, lock it again behind me, and flop onto the bed, taking a look at the new guitar. He really didn't need to do that. I start to untie my scarf, just as the phone rings. Sighing, I retie it, and answer, my voice taking on a semi-exhausted quality. 

"Cherry Lombardi", I announce, turning the semi broken tv on. It's Paul, asking if everything's alright. Weird thing for him to call about, but I try to assure him I'm fine. 

"Gene just got off the phone with me, he said your boss tried to call the cops on him?", the singer sounds flabbergasted. I groan, running a hand through my scalp, "Is there something going on?", 

"He came in incognito, and so my boss thought 'Oh, he's going to rob me', then Jimmy escalated it",

The line is quiet for a moment, before Paul starts laughing. I don't get how it's so hilarious to him. 

"Are you kidding me?, is, is Gene not recognizable to your boss?", Paul tries to calm himself down, "Wow", 

We talk for a bit longer, how Fleur should send over the costumes at the end of the month, how they're in the stages of getting a visa, but when he brings up Ace, the line goes quiet again. Just as I try to talk again, he changes the subject again, to rehearsal. 

"I'm getting a passport photo taken in the morning, so who knows how long that'll take", I take off my shoes, and set the channel to some random nature show. "If I show up around noon, is that-okay with you?", 

"If you can", I hang up after he tells me goodbye. 'I should call my parents soon,' I open the envelope, pulling out two checks. Each are for 1,000 dollars apiece, with a note from Martin. 

'Good luck-M.'

At least he seems okay with me leaving, without bringing it up. I smile, and place it near the lyrics notebook. I'll thank him tomorrow, and cash them after work. The week's been a weird one, but I hope it doesn't end poorly. 


	4. Passport Practice

Cherry's P.O.V

I have my passport photo taken Saturday by an unenthused woman with a pencil shoved in her hair. "Cheese", she drones, as I give a closed mouth smile. The flashbulb pops, while she chews on her lip. I blink for a few seconds, before handing over the money. 

"Bit early to be thinking about a vacation", she monotones, "But what do I know?", I shrug in response. "You get it in two weeks. I'll call if something comes up". 

I get to the studio early, 11:45 to be exact, guitar and gearbag on me. I only realize that I forgot my amp when the rest of the band shows up, hopefully there's a spare one. Eric is the first to greet me, but still brings up the incident from Thursday. 

"Your boss nearly called the cops on Gene?", I mentally scream, "That sounds terrible", 

"How about we just practice?", I nervously suggest, as Paul rushes past us. We set up, and put earplugs in, before starting with Saint and Sinner. Eric and I keep time, alongside playing. Gene's obviously on bass, alongside vocals this time. I keep my focus, fingers hitting chords. The head bobbing continues to the solo, but I decide against the bend, continuing the song normally. Eric's hair is even more of a mess, and Paul's going to need kneepads in his fifties, at the rate he's going. We move onto the next, Detroit Rock City, Paul taking the job of vocals. Gene rolls his eyes at Paul's half gyration, and tries to catch up with him. 

This time at the solo, I repeat the bend, going lower this time and performing the 'rutting' act, continuing even as the vocals return. Eric's still pounding at the drums, hair sticking to his forehead. I return to my normal spot, as Paul suggests we practice the guitar duel, something that kind of terrifies me. 

"What do we do with this?", I ask. 

"It's what it sounds like, we each play a section, getting louder when they clap and cheer, then lead into the actual song", he explains, demonstrating with the opening notes of Rock Bottom. I follow with the next part of the opening, he continues, getting louder and louder, until we finish it, drawing out the pause. "Like that", 

We switch it over to I Was Made For Lovin' You, before continuing with the rest of the setlist. We take a break at 2, my fingers feeling numb. 

"Should we order sushi?", Gene asks, "Because I feel like we could go for sushi", 

"No", Paul answers, almost irritated, "Don't make me bring up the last time", 

"What do they mean by that?", I whisper to Eric, "Food poisoning?", 

"Yeah, Genie was throwing up for hours", the shorter man confirms. 

"Why would he want to order it now, then?", 

"No idea", 

"Well what's your idea, salad?", the bassist scoffs. 

"I kind of agree with him", Eric whispers, "Paul puts him on all these diets, and it kind of sucks". I glance over to the stocky man. Really?

"Wait, he isn't allergic to them?", I joke, causing Eric to giggle. 

"Well, it doesn't help that venue owners give out candy baskets", Fair. 

"That's a thing?", 

"Oh yeah". I nod, as Paul and Gene continue with their argument. 

"Should we break this up before they rip each others' heads off?", I question. Eric takes another look, and nods fervently. 

"How about we just order from the fusion place?", he offers. The lead singer agrees, still somewhat vexed. 

"So, who taught you how to play, Cherry?", Paul asks, taking a bite of his salad. 

"My mom has an uncle in Oneida, I went over one summer, and he basically showed me the ropes."

"Always a good thing", Gene comments, "There's this one-old song I remember", 

"If it's the weird one about the raft, then let's not", Paul comments. 


End file.
